


Raw

by ballvvasher



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alcoholism, Anal Sex, Angst, Clothed Sex, Daddy Issues, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drama, Dubious Consent, Face-Fucking, First Kiss, Forced Orgasm, Gags, Gang Rape, Gore and Blood, Humiliation, Hux POV, Kylo Ren Is Decent, M/M, Name Calling, Oral Sex, Painful Sex, Rape Fantasy, Rough Sex, Self-Harm, Sexual Violence, Spit Roasting, Top!Kylo Ren, Torture, Use of restraints, body fluids, bottom!Hux, hurt!hux, masked sex, not exactly hurt/comfort, water sports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 06:55:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8194663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ballvvasher/pseuds/ballvvasher
Summary: While on a routine mission, General Hux is kidnapped and viciously gang raped by his captors. Kylo Ren is the only other being in the galaxy who knows Hux’s shameful secret. Story contains graphic gang rape, sexual violence, rape recovery, rape fantasy (as a coping mechanism). Hux’s relationship with Kylo Ren is consensual but borders dub-con. Please read all tags for more warnings.





	

 

General Hux seizes into consciousness. He blinks around the black void of his surroundings, the chill of stone seeping into the bones of his back through his clothing.

There's no indication of how or when he'd been taken to wherever this is. All he can remember is the barrage of blaster rifle fire, his men’s fatalities, and the commotion of the transport getting overtaken by bandits. Possibly of the Resistance breed. Those loathsome cowards.

His eyes gape into the darkness of wherever his captors have left him, blinking blindly like a trapped prey. Prideful, he calms himself in case his captors are watching. They won't get a rise out of him. He's willing to die for the First Order. One doesn’t take the rank of general with a paper-thin resolve.

White hot light rapes his senses. His captors have arrived. Hux stands tall, squaring his shoulders.

The men appear to be human, faces hidden behind plated masks. Not unlike Ren’s, his mind suggests.

Unhelpful. Kylo Ren isn’t here and is probably celebrating his capture.

His gut swims with dread, anxiety bubbling as he factors in his physical inferiority. All five of them are large under their layers of armor, different heights and builds but could rival Hux’s military melee training if Hux isn’t able to lift one of their weapons.

Their vanguard is the first to speak. “Before we hand you over to the Republic for your long overdue execution, a few of my warriors have deliberated a befitting punishment for a pig like yourself, General,” he threatens, voice altered through a vocalizer. “You owe this galaxy a debt. My men are going to take it from you.”

Resistance trogs. Typical. Hux heeds their unseen glares, lids aching to yield to the searing light silhouetting their forms. “I don’t respond to torture. Only negotiation.”

“You have no information worth bartering with. Not to us. These men have lost their livelihoods, their families, their name. Under your cloaked hand and dagger.” The vanguard flicks a finger, signaling his flank.

The general holds his ground. “My troops are already—”

An abrupt clash of metal assaults his gut, cracking the ribs. Hux doubles over, gasping.

“Enough out of this pig.” The vanguard passes his baton to the man on his right. “Do what you will but leave him in one piece,” he orders the masked gang. The vanguard leaves Hux in their hands.

Hux glares up from his crouch, only to be silenced with an uppercut to his jaw. His teeth cut open his tongue, blood dribbling from his lip onto the stone ground.

Two of the men come for his general’s fatigues and his expert offensive measures are squandered by their iron grips to each wrist. Their vibroblades greet his skin with every slice, ribboning the gaberwool lining. Hux growls around the kissing of their blades. Their carving burns hotly but he won’t give these animals the satisfaction of hearing him scream. Let them have their beating and be done with it. But he won’t go down without a fight.

The barrage of steel toe boots to his susceptible abdomen wrenches the first of many involuntary screams from within. Fuck. Cracked ribs split under the assault. His eyes boggle wide in awe of the agony, arms drawing into himself. Waiflike and pathetic.

Gloved hands grapple away the remainder of his clothing. Including his underclothes, leaving him completely bare to the bones.

The baton snakes between his legs. Disgusting. Hux struggles in their hands but the grips are too powerful.

“Look at him. He’s just a shrimp. Not so powerful anymore, are you, pig?” comes a vocabulator above. If mocking his size ever worked on him he would never have graduated from the academy under high prestige. Success attributed in part to his father, who was there to right any bullies into submission. He seethes at the memory. He never needed his father to step in.

However, it would be a blessing to have him step in now. Or anyone, for that matter.

“Get your fucking hands off me,” Hux hisses when a hand tugs on his genitals, vicious and repulsive. This can’t possibly be their method of torture. Hux prefers the baton.

The horror crashes down, splintering every nerve when Hux finally catches wind of what these animals have planned for him. His wrists are manacled in magcuffs, adhering to the ferrous stone floor of the cell. He’s forced to his elbows, desperate to stand against the unrelenting cuffs. Rough fabric assaults his bare backside when he attempts to get to his feet. Dropping to his knees, doubled over in a fetal crouch. His head swims in pain at the agitation to his broken ribs. This can’t possibly be happening.

He won’t beg, he won’t give them the satisfaction, he won’t beg, he won’t _beg_ —

“Eyes up here, pig,” growls one of them. When Hux denies him, a fist yanks his hair to crane his neck into complacency. “A man like you knows his way around a cock. Am I correct?”

Glowering, Hux retorts with a spit of phlegm upwards onto the clothing of his assailant. As a reward he’s backhanded, momentum knocking him off balance. The magcuffs slice open his wrists from the force of it.

“I’ll take that as a no. Don’t matter much with this keeping your mouth how we need it.” The masked man dangles some kind of gag in front of his seething eyes.

“I’ll kill you all. I’ll rip you apart!” Hux bellows, voice cracking in vehemence. The sea of masked assailants retort with murmurs of laugher and mockery.

His assailant pries open his jaw, his steely paw relentless. But Hux doesn’t yield until the man twists his finger into a pressure point on his neck. Hux gasps in agony, succumbing. The gag is in, secured by a leather strap around his head. Stretching his jaw wide and gaping, transforming his most valued body part into a vulnerable maw.

“That’s better. Hold your head up, pig.”

When Hux denies them again the fist in his hair returns. Frantic, he ducks away. The clatter of a belt slipping loose makes him erupt into throe. He has to fight, he has to fight, there has to be a way—

“The mouth that ordered the death of billions. Our receptacle. Come on, hold your head up. I’d hate to rip out that head of hair,” the man taunts. All Hux has to hold onto is his defiance, his will to fight. He’s going to tear these men apart with his hands.

The assailant before him withdraws his hand. A false victory. He’s unfastening his pants, adjusting his hardening cock to spear from between the part of his fly. A small, pained noise rips from Hux’s exposed throat at the sight of it. Red, angry. Remorseless. He’s already gagging and he has yet to be invaded by it.

Two gloved hands pin his head forward. He squeezes his eyes shut, jaw aching around the girth of the gag. If there is a higher power, it has abandoned him.

Hux has never had any sort of sexual contact in all his years as an officer. He’s masturbated before, although rarely. He’d never expected his first run-in with a cock to be by force. The hot, putrid filth of it sodomizing him through his helpless groans.

“You’re a fucking natural,” croons his assailant, slowly sliding inside. Hux boils in fury at the degradation, the humiliation. He screams in rage, muffled around the invasion.

The assailant’s hips begin to thrust, fucking Hux’s face with no regard for his oxygen intake. Hux’s skin crawls around the feeling of his throat expanding, splitting to rawness. If only he could black out from suffocation, but no such relief is granted. The cock withdraws and plunges back in again, hands cradling the base of his skull. A parody of a lover’s touch.

If only he could split the steel of the gag. Break his teeth around it and gnaw the cock off. Anything, any defense would be enough.

Without warning, his assailant pins himself deeper than he’d ever fucked before. Shooting thick jets of come down his gullet. Hux’s eyes widen around the shock of it. Utter disbelief.

The offending cock ripples out from his throat, smearing saliva and come down his stretched chin. The metallic taste of blood pricks his tongue, swimming around the heady musk and salt.

The next assailant approaches him, abusing his torn throat with his longer cock. Unable to contain his noises, Hux groans in agony. The man pets his scalp, agreeing with the smooth vibration his throat emits. “He looks pretty lonely down there,” pants the assailant.

As if the situation could get any worse. Hux thrashes in his bonds. Behind him he feels the iciness of another magcuff securing his knee in place, and another for his other knee. Effectively immobilizing him into a spread straddle with the stone ground. Hux can only arch his back, or lean forward away from what horrors that may come from behind. Forward into the cock assaulting his throat and the hand petting his scalp.

A wet, leathery finger prods his defenseless hole. Hux hasn’t cried since he was a child but he’s stunned to tears now, trembling around the foreign penetration. The assailant fucking his throat pulls in and out even slower, taunting him with his gentleness. 

“Come on, pig. I know you can take it. Even if you can’t, we’ll find a way.”

More than one finger splits him open and Hux angles his hips against it as if that could do anything to stop them. The struggle is futile, obviously making them enjoy abusing him even more. But he can’t make himself willingly submit. He fucking can’t.

The fingers pull out and Hux feels two hands part his cheeks, baring his hole. A splatter of phlegm startles him into spasms like an exposed nerve. His rear assailant chuckles, spitting at his hole again.

He doesn’t have much time to seethe against the sensation of his throat contracting along the loss and the ejaculate painting his face an eyes, because his ass is swiftly, brutally bombarded with his rear assailant’s cock. The agony of being stretched raw blinds him, and he cries out an unintelligible curse from his open throat.

The gang cheers, murmuring praise and mocking his wailing. Hux closes his eyes, forcing himself into silence and bracing against each of the man’s thrusts. He clenches around the gag, jaw threatening to splinter.

“You’ve got a sweet ass,” his assailant jeers, fucking him deep. He hears another fly unzip, distant and far away. There’s not a fiber of hope.

His manacled wrists protest under the assault and in an effort for some minor reprieve, he sinks to his elbows, delirious with pain.

No good deed goes unpunished. The new position sparks something hot and foreign along his spine and against his will, Hux leans backwards into his assailant’s cock. A moan blossoms from within and Hux clamps his eyes shut. He just wants to disappear.

“The pig’s finally enjoying himself,” encourages his assailant. “Let’s see if I can fuck this pig until he squeals.” He punctuates his threat with a harsh smack to Hux’s ass and Hux clamps down around him.

The cock plunges deep, renewing the scorch of the burn. It pulls out again, dragging along a sensitive, needy spark inside of him. Hux’s thighs tremble in betrayal as the cock assaults him with pleasure.

He’s going to kill all of them, in the most painful, intimate of ways.

Hux’s cock is almost filled, hanging red and engorged from his assailants' ministrations. Another cock lines up with his face. The man wrenches Hux up by his hair from his elbowed crouch, impaling his face on his fat, stubby cock.

“You’re gonna come around me,” pants his rear assailant. “I wanna feel you come around me. You disgusting pig. You can’t help yourself.”

A fresh wave of enraged tears spill down his cheeks as the man draws out more bolts of pleasure from within, the pain morphing to pleasure and back to pain again until there isn’t a difference between the two. Staccato thrusts entice the final waves of tantalization from the confused nerves inside him and Hux whimpers, choking around the cock abusing him from the front. Quivering, Hux comes, his channel fluttering around his invader.

“That’s it, imperialist scum. Milk my fucking cock,” he laughs, shuddering his release inside Hux’s abused hole.

Hux is going to destroy them all, every last Resistance trog, every Republic ally. They’re all fucking dead.

His assailant eases himself out with one parting slap. Hux whimpers around the cock until that one too plunges outward, globing a fresh wad of semen, saliva, and blood down his chin. For good measure the cock laves over his face, punctuating the filth and depravity of the act. “Normally I don’t do sloppy seconds, but I got a surprise for our pig that I know he’ll like,” he says. Hux can hear the grin splitting his face from behind his mask. He can’t wait to peel the man’s skin off.

The assailant roughly takes him from behind while Hux glares blearily for any more offending cocks that plan on raping him. He can’t see any from his vantage point but that doesn’t mean it’s over.

“Fuck,” hisses the man behind him, gripping Hux’s thin hips with his bruising fingertips. After an endless, rigorous fucking the man’s hips stutter, coming deep inside his molested channel. The man stills, but makes no move to pull out.

Hux gapes to the floor underneath him as a hot gushing of fluid fills his bowels.

The man’s pissing. He’s filling him with his piss. Hux’s throat closes around his protest. Stricken into silence, trembling weakly in shock. Broken.

The other men only have a fraction of a second to bask at their comrade’s ingenuity before all hell breaks loose.

Numbly, Hux blinks around him. Through the blur of tears, the shadows come to life around swipes of electric red, limbs tossed in all directions, screams that aren’t his.

By an unseen force, the man inside him is cleaved to the side, his dismembered corpse sliding out of him and onto the stone floor.

Hux dares to make eye contact from his bound crouch. His chest undulates. It’s Ren.

Ren, his adversary. His savior.

Ren, standing there with his lightsaber drawn. Staring at him. Hux ducks his face away, cowering. The humiliation of having Kylo Ren see him in this state is too unbearable for words.

Holding his breath, Hux stares out in front of him when he sees two black boots in his line of vision. The lightsaber deactivates.

He hears the distinct flutter of clothing coming undone. His heartbeat thrums in renewed panic. This can’t be happening, not again, not _Ren—_

The thick warmth of what feels like a blanket drapes over his back, encasing Hux’s bruised naked body in wooly comfort. Hux desperately investigates the fabric. It’s Ren’s hooded scarf.

Ren perches in front of him on his knees to tackle the hinge on the gag. Hux’s jaw aches when Ren removes it, tossing it aside. His tongue greets the roof of his mouth, registering the tang of blood and the salt of semen coating him from inside, helplessly dribbling from his abused lips.

Blearily, Hux gapes at the plates of Ren’s mask, searching. Ren bends on his hands and knees to investigate the magcuffs. With a wave of his gloved hand, the manacles unlock. Hux wavers to the side. Ren doesn’t catch him and for that Hux is grateful.

His hole gives to the pressure change, trickling out his assailant’s piss down his legs and onto the floor. In the dead silence the spill echoes. Despite the protest of his ass Hux slumps onto his haunches, scraping his fingernails through his hair. The piss, semen, and blood keeps seeping out of him and Hux can’t contain the scream that erupts from his core. A strangled sob. A plea.

“We need to get going,” Ren says through his vocabulator after a heavy moment. To Hux’s ears he mimics remorse.

Hux gets to his feet, raking a hand through the filth on his face. Attempting to compose himself. His spine and bludgeoned hole object to the sudden movement.

He secures Ren’s scarf over his shoulders. It’s not enough coverage but it will do for the time being. Ren looks like he wants to say something, from the twitch of his head. Hux is fluent in Ren’s brand of body language.

“They’re all dead?” he asks, small and hoarse. Speaking is agonizing but he has to know.

“I killed them all,” Ren replies with finality.

They were _his_ to kill. Not Ren’s. Hux holds his head high. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

As a unit they weave through the bandits’ lair. Hux’s legs tremble in an effort to maintain speed with Ren, stumbling around the corner. Ren stops in his tracks, cocking his mask to him.

“Are you able to keep up?” Ren asks him, not unkindly.

The bleaching light above feels more exposing than his nudity. Surely Ren can see the bruises, the cuts, the stains of filth on his face and down his legs. “Just keep moving,” he breathes.

It's a short stretch to Ren’s ship on the other side of the dimly lit alley buy Hux’s nudity renders him incapable of breaking the threshold of the lair’s back door. It doesn't take Ren long to realize the issue.

Ren tenses, as if Hux is making this personally difficult for him. “There's no one around. But we're about thirty seconds until they become our problem,” Ren growls.

Hux burns the back of his helmet with his glare. Barreling past Ren, he marches to the ship. Spine erect, with no regard for his abused, naked body.

Narrowly escaping a shower of blaster fire, Ren pulls his command shuttle from the planet's surface, weaving around the aged spires of buildings. Hux braces himself against the durasteel wall. Refusing to sit on his bottom.

Now that they're clear of the enemy Hux’s adrenaline fades. The raw, split feeling of his ass and throat overcomes him. The corners of his mouth crusted with blood, his tongue lolling around the semen and bile.

He pads towards the refresher. The cramped stall comprises of merely a toilet and basin but it'll do until Ren gets them back to the Finalizer.

Hux locks the door behind him. The reflection in the mirror gapes back at him, eyes and lips inflamed and red. The bruises on his face have yet to blossom but he anticipates the new coloring that will mottle his once pale face. His wrists ring with abrasion and congeal with blood. The angry lines from the vibroblades crosshatch his skin.

Ren’s scarf hangs sloppily around his shoulders, the only source of warmth.

What Hux needs is medical assistance, but discretion will be damn near impossible if he goes to the medical bay. The reflection’s wet eyes narrow, scrutinizing his odds.

Hyperspace is a welcoming lull around the shuttle. Hux scrubs at his face with the water and soap, the burn to his split lips and eyes a distraction. His eyes slip close. It's over.

Hux focuses on the burn of the soap. He gags around the chemical heaviness of it as he rakes his fingernails along the bed of his tongue. A dark pubic hair gets smudged away along with the layer of fluid and soap. His fingers pinch around another small hair, careful and deliberate as if harvesting a scientific specimen.

Footsteps snap him back to reality. Hesitant, hovering just outside the thin refresher door.

The fact that it was Ren who witnessed him raped, filthy, beaten, defeated, is by far the worst threat to his rank. His reputation, his name. “Fuck off,” he growls to the door.

Ren complies.

 

\--

 

 _“Was there any salvaging of your mission once Kylo Ren aided your rescue?”_ Supreme Leader Snoke asks neutrally, holoprojected hand hanging in the air. Hux’s unhealed throat closes, the prior week’s assault pinching the tissue with every swallow. This was the latest he and Ren could get away with updating Snoke on their failure.

Hux blinks, conscious of Ren’s opaqueness by his side. One of the unfortunate constants of his daily duties. “There was nothing left for us there.”

 _“What I hear is that you allowed the_ Resistance _to take control of your vessel and with that, the landing codes and other more sensitive information it harbored,”_ accuses Snoke’s visage.

“As General Hux explains,” Ren answers for him, causing Hux to waver on his feet, “is that there was no way for us to escape unscathed if we were to scout the planet for the lost ship. We were without manpower. It would have been foolish to return for one ship.”

Hux’s eyes fall to the polished flooring before them. Ren’s lying for his sake. There was time for Ren to locate and destroy their taken ship. But Hux was a burden, suffocating under the conclusion of his assault. Distracted and drawn apart, resolve thinned to tatters. After a week, nothing’s changed.

Snoke wrinkles his marred brow. _“I see. The First Order will be forced to accommodate to the shortcomings of our general’s mission.”_

Before now, Hux hadn't known any force in the galaxy to render him speechless. Together they are dismissed.

Hux shuffles around Ren, bolting to the chamber door.

“You need to visit medical,” Ren all but shouts through his vocabulator.

And have a medidroid document his suggestive injury? A human surgeon catalogue every detail for Snoke to follow up on and condemn him to some nameless base where he'll be cast into obscurity? “Don't tell me what I need.”

Hux marches in the direction of his quarters in want of another long, thorough shower. He's lost count of how many times he'd scrubbed his thighs to redness. How close he was to splitting his teeth around his clenching jaw as he worked a rag between his spread cheeks, fiercely working the antibacterial into his hole.

“You're distracted. The pain consumes you.” Ren’s following him. It was only a matter of time before Ren used his assault against him.

“I suppose you want to make it all better?” Hux spins around, scowling to the plates of Ren’s mask.

Ren regards him in silent scrutiny. Without a parting word, he stalks in the opposite direction.

Later in the cycle, Hux locks himself in his personal refresher. The gums lining his teeth bow with fresh blood under the barrage of antiseptic and bristles of his toothbrush. He spits the pink frothy gunk into the basin and repeats the cleansing abuse.

The door of his quarters hisses open. Only one man would be so bold to barge into the general’s personal quarters. Hux spits into the basin, boiling at Ren’s audacity.

“What is it,” he barks. He takes the effort of tucking his bloodstained toothbrush in a cabinet in case Ren decides to push through his refresher door.

Boots click towards him. Something hits his bed. The boots retreat to the main door, hissing closed behind them.

Hux pokes his head out in case this is one of Ren’s tricks. His room is empty, unchanged except for the case propped at the base of his bed.

The hairs on his neck prickle. He's never gotten a gift from anyone, least of all Ren.

The case comes undone. He pulls out a small vial of pills—anti-venereals, bacta patches, salve, and a syringe. The syringe is fitted with a tube instead of a needle.

If Ren expects him to pump salve up his rectal walls like some fucking whore, he can forget it.

He can manage the anti-venereals, so he pops a double dose dry. He applies the salve to the wounds on his face and wrists and the forgotten ones on the backs of his knees. Next to his bed he tucks the case away, pulling out his sleep aids.

But the aids do little to stifle the plague of dreams during night-cycle. Sensations of filth, violation, heedless masked figures. Cock after inexorable cock. Every night since the incident has been the same. If only Starkiller could have destroyed the world his captors had taken him to before this travesty had ever occurred. Every system, every known Resistance hovel. They all deserve to die.

Hux stiffens awake, hands tightening to fists in his sheet. Someone’s in his room.

Of course it’s fucking Ren.

“Get out. Now!” Hux snaps, scrambling to his feet.

“This is the seventh consecutive night you have projected your nightmares. You need to get this under control,” Ren reprimands through his vocalizer, stance broad and unyielding. He’s not going anywhere unless he wants to.

Hux claws at his palms. “Why are you in here? _Why_ can’t you leave me be?”

Ren takes a moment to consider, as if he’s selecting from a great many list of reasons to divulge. “You’re loud. It’s irritating.”

This incorrigible bastard. “I don’t care for your comfort,” Hux spits.

“I can help you.”

Hux scoffs. “You slaughtered my targets without my permission. I’m without closure. That’s all this is.”

Ren adjusts his footing. “I can take the memories from you.”

The notion is unbelievably enticing, and he’s drawn to the idea of a quick, painless fix. But how could he prevent something like this from happening again? And Ren would have the knowledge of his assault to use against him how he pleases. This method Ren proposes is nothing more than healing through Ren’s own special marque of violation. He’d have another leg up against him and Hux wouldn’t even know it. “Do not do that. Under any circumstances.” Fear pricks his skin.

Thankfully, Ren appears to understand. He cocks his helmet to the side. “Begin with healing the physical trauma.”

Hux thinks of the syringe that Ren delivered to him, the one with the function of basting his shorn insides with salve. “That will do nothing.” Absolutely nothing.

The vocalizer clicks on and off, as if Ren had staved off his words. He’s never known Kylo Ren to stutter, falter, to give in any direction other than that willed by Snoke.

Why is Ren on some crusade to see him well? Not to mention, his outright omission of the details regarding his assault from Snoke. In all their years together Ren had expressed nothing more than heartless indifference towards him. It angered Hux to no end. And now, Ren’s delivering him medical supplies and offering him a mental bleaching. He’d never even asked for his scarf back. Hux had already incinerated it, anyway. “If you had been quicker, none of this would have happened.” The words expel before Hux can choke them down.

Ren reacts bodily, twisting around to face the wall.

“And you killed _my_ targets. They were mine. You killed them all with no regard for my dignity.” Hux seethes the weak, childish words. “So I don’t care that you can see my—nightmares. I don’t give a shit. There’s nothing you can do. Remove yourself from my quarters.”

Ren complies.

 

\--

 

Hux is constantly looking over his shoulder. Knowing Ren _knows._

Not only has Ren seen him bound, degraded, helpless, but he knows when the memories of Hux’s assault revisit him. Whether it’s on the bridge, in front of Snoke, in a damned refresher stall, his flashbacks persistently conclude with the nagging suspicion that Ren has somehow received his involuntary flashback.

It’s almost a month before Hux’s nightly plague of memories changes. The visions mold with the nuisances of his daily life. Specifically Ren, the nuisance he thinks about entirely too much.

In place of his assailants is Ren. Ren’s the one binding him to his knees, forcibly penetrating him from all directions. His identity is hidden behind the plates of his mask. Hux has seen Ren’s face on several occasions, the most recent when Hux had retrieved his half broken body just before Starkiller ruptured, but in Hux’s nightmare Ren’s always masked, covered, opaque. Except for the daunting loom of his cock from between his robes.

Hux pours himself another glass of whiskey. The scorch of the alcohol is a welcoming to his buzzing senses. His throat has healed without the use of any salve and in a miscarriage of judgement, Hux glugs down more of the whiskey. Longing for his throat to revert back to his abused state. He can’t explain why. Probably something to do with self-loathing. The worst punishment he can think of. The alcohol is as close as he can get to flogging without leaving a mark.

 _You miserable weakling. You never amounted to anything. Manipulable. Submissive,_ spews his father’s voice. He’s unsure if this is a memory or a fantasy. Regardless, the words need to be said. He knocks back another mouthful, letting the whiskey dribble down his chin. His eyes fill with tears that threaten to spill.

Knee-jerk, Hux focuses on Ren. “Come here,” he slurs to the foot of his bed. As if they share some special Force-connection, as if Ren’s mind is reachable from anywhere. “Come here, you _fuck!”_ he shouts, boisterous and deranged. “I know you’re fucking listening!”

It takes Ren over five minutes to comply. The door trundles open and Ren’s boots thud towards him.

“What took you so long,” Hux hisses, his fingers strangling the neck of his near empty bottle.

Ren’s gloved thumbs wriggle. “What do you want?” he grumbles, toneless.

The bottle’s rim kisses his lips. He tosses his head back, topping off the whiskey. It clinks hollowly on the cold floor when he releases it to the artificial gravity. “You never got another scarf. Aren’t you cold?”

“I manage.” Ren’s hovering. It must be for a good reason. Hux tops off his glass, lets it roll from his hand onto the flat of his mattress.

 _Weak-willed. Pathetic,_ his father’s voice taunts. “I thought I should tell you,” Hux points an accusing finger to the two crisscrossing visages of Ren, “that I’m all better now. All healed up…all healed up.”

The helmet turns. “Is that so?”

“Yes. So you can go back to minding your own fucking business,” he garbles. Hux’s throat calls for more whiskey but he’s depleted his one and only bottle. Why the fuck does he only have one _fucking_ bottle?

“I don’t believe you,” Ren taunts.

 _Damaged. Used._ “I won’t have you use any of this against me. One day I’ll be the one to rescue you. You’ll have to thank _me.”_ Though he already had rescued Ren, once. But that was a very different instance. There were very different circumstances.

Hux claws his way out of the trap of his bed, knocking the empty bottle across the floor. It clinks loud and stark in the stillness. Ren hasn’t moved a muscle so he takes the liberty to close the distance between them.

He glares up at the slot where Ren’s eyes hide under the disguise. Brown eyes, possibly hazel under the right light, if his memory serves him correctly. “The burn is gone,” Hux murmurs. “It’s over.”

 _Spineless. Soiled._ “I want it back,” Hux laments, extending his hand to Ren’s crotch. Punctuating with a harsh, deliberate squeeze.

An invisible wave of energy accosts him, thrusting him backwards onto his bed. The door hisses around Ren’s retreat, leaving him alone to tend to the whiplash in his neck.

 

\--

 

It takes a tertiary round of alarms to wake Hux the next morning. He fell asleep in the same position Ren left him, neck craned uncomfortably to the side, the stench of whiskey staining his sheets. Alcoholism—another disgraceful display of weakness.

He grimaces, recalling Ren’s rejection. Not even Ren will have him. Callous, childish Ren.

Ren, who rescued him from the hands of the enemy, who lied for him before Snoke, who delivered him medical supplies and anti-venereals. Who Hux drunkenly groped in a torrent of self-loathing.

He fumbles around his cabinet for some concoction of pills to aid his pounding head. The effects of the pills are immediate, and Hux rolls his neck to loosen the kinks. Relishing the impact of the pharmaceuticals against his ailments.

On the bridge, Ren is waiting for him. “Nice of you to join us, General,” tosses Ren through his vocabulator. Like this is just another day.

Hux ignores him, attempting to dampen whatever weak-willed thoughts that surface upon seeing Ren again. The bulb of anxiety tightens his neckline.

He tries to focus on his daily tasks but all he can feel is the filth festering inside him. It’s running down his thighs, bleeding out of every orifice. Ren can see it, too. That’s why he shoved him away last night. Tossed him across the room like a sodden, slimy rag.

“General,” Ren growls, accusing.

Naturally, Ren sensed his hallucination. “Fuck you,” he hisses, turning several bunned and slicked back heads of his officers. Flushing in humiliation, Hux storms to his quarters.

He wants it to hurt again, to burn raw and gaping. He scratches at his throat, tossing his room for something to ignite the itch inside him. He demands to be punished in the worst way he can think of, for his weakness and lapse of judgement. And Ren won’t fucking do it, his standards apparently higher than Hux. Hux—torn and hollow and ripped apart, his edges frayed and blistered.

The door hisses open. The draft from Ren’s approach hits him, cheeks chilled under tears he hadn’t felt slip.

“Tell me what you need,” Ren implores.

What does he need? To be the one that flayed the skin off his assailants. For Starkiller to have purged the galaxy of all Resistance scum. Another drink. To be led to the closest airlock. For Ren to have been faster rescuing him, before they’d ever touched him.

“I want it to be you,” Hux pleads instead. He means it. He’s never meant anything more. “When I think of the burn, I want to think of you.”

The plates of Ren’s mask regard him mutely. As if he isn’t sure what Hux is asking.

“Will you do that for me? Will you hold me down?”

There’s a tense, pregnant moment for Hux’s request to linger, gathering momentum.

“This will help?” Ren’s question is small, uncertain. Hux recoils. Those words are not easily attributed to Ren.

“Yes.” He knows so.

Ren’s boots clunk close until they’re separated by a single pace. He moves to unclasp his helmet.

“Leave it on,” Hux stops him, heart in his throat. “It’ll be better with it on.”

“How will I know if it’s too much?” Ren asks next. The fact that he’d considered that an issue at all alarms Hux, warming him with something strange and unnamed.

Hux adjusts his footing, peering into the slot where Ren’s eyes hide. “You’re receptive. I’ll emote.”

Minutely, the helmet angles upwards. Pensive.

A wave of energy forces Hux to the ground. The chill of his bedroom floor hits his kneecaps. In Hux’s line of sight is Ren’s belt buckle. Ren uses his limbs against him, restricting all movement with his only his mind.

His mouth waters in anticipation.

Hux’s arms are immobilized at his sides, allowing him only the barest twitch of his fingers. By the time Ren gets himself loose from between the folds of his tunic, the barest touch of drool pools at the corner of his lips from their forced parting.

 _Filthy,_ Hux thinks, when Ren whips out his cock with his gloved hands. Those are the gloves he uses to operate his command shuttle with, the same gloves in which he wields his saber. The same gloves he uses to crush the larynxes of the enemy. Hux’s jaw widens against the foreign manipulation of Ren’s Force-touch. There isn’t any way Hux can understand how Ren’s making him do these things, but he doesn’t want any of it to stop. He needs to be opened up by Ren, filled and split open by Ren, used by Ren.

His eyes flick up to Ren’s mask. Deep into the veil of the slit where Ren is undoubtedly looking back at him as he tugs himself to hardness. Ren’s already large in the tight coil of his fist, threatening to expand with every rough stroke. He’s more endowed than his first assailants. It’s better this way.

Hux squeezes his eyes shut before he can see Ren’s cock grow to its complete hardness, enlivening the fantasy behind the darkness of his lids.

Ren’s hand drags through his hair, blunt tips of each finger raking his scalp. Hux’s eyes fly open just in time to feel his girth heavy on the pad of his tongue. He tests the give of Ren’s pull. It’s strict, unyielding. He breathes through his nose, satisfaction glowing inside of him.

Gingerly, Ren pushes himself deep past Hux’s tongue. Hux’s jaw aches around his girth.

It’s not enough. Ren’s going too slow and it feels too good—

Hux’s eyes stretch to saucers when Ren snaps his hips forward, violent and severe. Past the bulbs at the back of his mouth, throat spasming around a fit of gags. Ren repeats the action, fucking his hips out then back in without giving him anytime to recuperate. Whimpers buzz around Ren’s cock and the hand in his hair squeezes, twists.

Hux relishes the twin burns which blossom from the assault. The assault. It’s his, now. Ren’s a part of it, sure, but Hux owns the pain. Conquered, with every hard fuck Ren delivers to his skull.

The filth; the filth is also his. Saliva leaks from the seam of his lips to his cheeks and jaw.

He closes his eyes against Ren’s faltering movements, the helmet above clicking against Ren’s repressed noises of pleasure. He’s close now. Hux knows how a man feels when he’s inside, nearing the point of release.

The vocalizer transmits Ren’s low, electronic groan down to his eager ears. Ren comes, thick jets down his raw throat.

Hux wavers forward, no longer supported by Ren’s invisible energy. He swallows as Ren slips out, throat rippling over the renewed burns.

Ren tucks himself back inside his tunic, his movements lethargic. He marches around Hux’s crouch to sit on his bed.

Unable to suppress the quake in his fingers, Hux rakes a hand through his hair. A haphazard attempt to reorganize the dishevelment. Ren’s helmet is cocked low, contemplative. His shoulders heave in silent laborious breaths.

Hux’s throat bobs against the rawness, and again several more times until the sting bombards all senses. He doesn’t notice Ren’s hands clawing into fists.

“Was that enough?” Ren’s the first to cut open the silence.

Not even close. “For now,” he closes his eyes. Hux stand on his aching knees, wobbling to his bed. The general rarely takes a sick day but it’s clear he needs one now. Ren immediately stands, giving him all the room he needs to wallow.

This throat closes around the feeling of Ren and he looks up, but Ren is nowhere in sight.

 

\--

 

Hux can’t make it a single day before mentally paging Ren again.

 _I can’t take it anymore,_ he calls loud in his head in hopes Ren is listening.

 _It wasn’t enough_. Hux rips at his wrinkled fatigues.

 _I’m not fucking drunk or anything,_ he adds. _Just come here._

He gives up after fifteen minutes of groveling in his own head. Ren never shows up, not even projecting a response to show he’s heard or cared.

Does Ren find him sexually attractive? Does he even like men at all? He wouldn’t have complied in Hux’s demands if he didn’t. It’s free, casual sex on his end. To Hux, not quite. But it’s not like he should feel bad if Ren’s tired of the game before it truly started.

The next morning Hux glares down from the bridge to the main hangar. Ren’s command shuttle is missing from its usual perch.

“Thanisson,” Hux levels with one of his officers.

“Sir?”

“When is Kylo Ren scheduled to return?”

The officer taps at his computer. “Tonight, sir.”

Hux’s throat bobs along the soreness.

That night he calls out with his mind. _Again, Ren,_ he pleads to whoever is listening. _Come here. I need it._

It takes Ren not even a minute to return. As if he was waiting for him, just around the corner. Hux could weep. He hovers in the doorway, masked and cloaked.

“What do you need?” Ren asks through the vocalizer. Patient, steady. He's here for Hux’s sake.

Hux doesn't know how to put it into words, so he shows him. Projecting images of Ren looming over him. Getting beaten, pinned, viciously taken from behind. He swallows around the irritation in his throat, awaiting Ren’s response.

The helmet turns to the side, a disjointed movement. Shocked. “Are you sure?” Ren pushes out the words.

Frantic, Hux tugs at his uniform. “Just...leave it all on. The mask, everything,” the shrillness in which he grates out his plea like ice on his tongue.

He stands before Ren, completely naked. _Hit me,_ he urges outward. Ren doesn't move.

 _Fucking hit me,_ Hux seethes. Begging.

Ren backhands him, and Hux sees stars. He does it again, his teeth shearing his cheek. A wave of energy forces him backwards, tumbling him on the bed. Ren approaches, boots slight and uneven against the flooring. Trepid. He’s nervous, he’s fucking nervous and it’s ruining everything.

With all his concentration, Hux forces out more projections of what he wants Ren to mimic from his assault. Grips on his wrists, delicate bones grinding against each other. He wants it on his stomach, he wants to feel Ren’s robes rough and irritating along the notches of his spine and the wings of his shoulder blades. He wants Ren heavy and immobilizing, suffocating, while he tries to fight back in vain.

Hux sobs, relief and agony, when Ren flips him onto his chest. He yanks his thighs apart, freshly bruised cheek pinching against his grimace. Then Ren moves away, the draft from his movement kissing his bare skin.

Ren’s rifling through one of his cabinets. “What are you looking for?” Hux sneers impatiently around the knot in his throat.

His response is immediate, muffled by the clatter of his rummaging. “I’m not fucking you dry.”

Worrying a hand in his hair, Hux growls. Endlessly frustrated at Ren’s antics. “That’s how I want it. I want the burn. That’s the whole point.”

“I’m not here to skin my own dick,” he retorts, settling on the case of medical supplies.

Ren’s crassness sobers him. “Why are you here?” Hux breathes, still not sure why Ren is helping him.

Whatever confession he’s attempting to divulge is cut short when Ren returns. The bed shifts and Ren is there, full and hard above him. Shivers course through his body. He longs for the burn.

A gloved finger brushes his hole. He closes his eyes.

He stiffens. Whatever Ren’s fingering him with tingles, pleasant and warming. He whips his head around. It’s the fucking salve. “I can’t believe you think this would—”

Ren smacks him in the jaw. It surprises him, not because it hurts, but because it hardly had. He can feel Ren’s pulling his hits. Softening his blows. It’s clear Ren has no desire to hurt him, that he’s playing the role of his assailant. Poorly. Ren inserts a second finger, slippery with the healing agent.

“I don’t want any more of that salve,” he pants. He wants Ren to hit him again.

“Shut up,” Ren hisses. Hux flushes, skull aching around his clenching jaw.

Hux can’t see behind him but he parts his thigh under the faltering bob of Ren’s hardness against his backside. Ren better not fuck this up. He wants it hard. He needs it to hurt. He wants to fight against Ren’s assault. It’s the only way he’ll make it his own. It’s the only way he can have this—

His face twists in agony. Ren’s cockhead breaches him, the salve doing little to ease the burn. After an aching moment he bottoms out, the rough fabric of Ren’s robes flopping over his sides and thighs. Inside him Ren is fresh, blinding, blazing agony. It’s all he can feel. He cries into the mattress, pushing backwards into his assailant.

Cooperating with his fantasy, Ren fists his wrists next to his head. Hux tugs against the relentless grip, gasping a strangled moan.

Ren fucks into him hard, merciless. His vocalizer crackles around his heaving breaths, a hovering mass behind Hux’s head.

Hux squeezes his eyes shut, desperate to be shrouded by darkness. Because the bed’s too soft under his knees. The distinctive texture of Ren’s sleeves against his straining arms is too tantalizing. Ren’s waist-buckle is a cool anchor to the small of his back, where he’d prefer it to dig in painfully.

His eyes fly open. Something deep inside him tears, splitting around Ren’s steely cock. He wails, high and stinging. Shaking madly against Ren’s enormity, he zeroes-in on the scorch budding and ebbing with every one of Ren’s fucks.

Ren’s hips stutter, pulling off Hux’s back. The vocalizer inhales. A gasp. “You’re bleeding.”

“Keep going,” he claws his hair. The follicles pop from their roots, flooding his ears with their sting.

“You’re bleeding. A lot,” Ren grumbles, sounding far off.

 _Manipulable,_ his father taunts him from beyond his grave. _Weak-willed, pathetic, disgraceful, filthy, used._ “Please keep going,” he croaks, whimpering into the bedspread. “Please,” he curses, the plea foreign and acidic.

“I can take away the memories. Just say the word,” Ren implores. “Make your decision now because you’ll have to find some other way to cope. I’m finished. I’m done hurting you.” Ren, the insufferable fuck, pulls out and climbs off the bed.

Ren’s torn apart this ship in fits of rage, tossed his officers around like cotton dolls. He's never so much as directed more than a nod of distaste in Hux’s direction, barely a shove to his shoulder, a half formed threat. And when he _finally_ shows Hux an inkling of care, a reaction, anything besides his fiendish indifference, when he finally complies with Hux’s whims, he backs out? They've slaughtered entire villages, entire systems and he's backing out because of a little blood?

“You think I'm sick, don't you?” Hux sneers.

“I can take away the memory of your assault.” Ren tucks his deflating cock back inside his tunic. “And of tonight and all other times,” he adds, grating.

“That's not an option and it never will be.”

“It might be the only way to help.”

“Help?” Hux parrots. “It would only be convenient for you. You'd be the only person who'd know. Another fucking advantage. Just like the arrangement we had—convenient until I bled on your dick.” Sitting up, Hux’s throat calls for the sting of whiskey. He hangs his head between his knees, awaiting the hiss of the door.

Instead, a smaller hiss permeates the space separating them, followed by a heavy clunk. Hux flicks his eyes up and is met with Ren’s even stare. The scar marring his stony features drags diagonal like a smear of charcoal. Dark twists of hair curl against his forehead, sticky with sweat.

Hux’s heart rate flares. He can't look away as Ren peels off his outer robes, his tunic, his undershirt. Bare arms and muscled shoulders roll beneath glistening skin, his chest taut and defined. Ren tugs down his pants, then his underwear, until he stands before him bare. Nude and waiting.

His half-hard cock protrudes, dipped in red. Hux's cheeks twitch painfully around his bleeding hole from the sight of it.

Lashes beating, Hux flattens his hands on the mattress. He awaits Ren’s explanation. It's then he realizes that he has yet to tell Ren to leave. But he'd be lying if he said he wanted him to.

Ren’s bare, muscled chest floats into his line of sight, and Hux can see the faint spattering of natural marks on Ren's face extend to beneath his clothes. Large, ungloved hands gingerly pet his scalp and jaw, turning his head to look into Ren’s eyes.

Sorrow. Sympathy. Hux has never seen such wrought openness in a life form before, unless he counts the baring a soul often does before they're about to be slaughtered. He didn't know was Ren capable of being this gentle. Calloused fingers graze his jaw. A fingertip pets the thin skin of Hux’s lip.

Ren connects their mouths. Hux has never been kissed in all his life. His throat bubbles out a whimper, leaning into Ren’s warmth.

What begins as a nip of their lips evolves into a toe-curling, passionate affair. Ren’s tongue tentatively prodding into his mouth. Hux closes his eyes. Broad hands cradling his skull. Ren’s authentic, rich groan. Unmanufactured as opposed to the electronic crackle of his helmet.

Hux pushes back, sampling the texture of Ren’s tongue. Ren’s voluptuous dark hair, a new sensation igniting the pads of his fingers.

Ren tries to pull away as if to speak. But like a moth to a flame Hux lurches, refusing to part. It takes Ren all his strength to break the kiss. “I can make you feel good. You don't have to feel pain anymore.” Ren punctuates with a fucking of his tongue.

As his answer, Hux tugs Ren up atop the bed, setting himself on the pillow. Bared and pliant, praying Ren won't deny him.

Ren situates between his two parted knees. Looming over him, wisps of hair tickling Hux’s face. Hux studies the human man above him, his hazel eyes, the pinch of his brow, the gnarled skin around his scar which trails to his neck and shoulder. They could be healed. Instead they function as reminders. For the first time in their reluctant partnership, Hux finds himself relating.

Bare chests meet, and Ren indulges in the skin of Hux’s neck. Every nerve ignites and Hux expels a moan, feeling the graze of teeth around his pulsating jugular.

Ren’s mouth stripes down to his chest, Hux’s cock skidding along the plane of his abdomen. Eager. The kisses blossom new pricks of pleasure around his nipple and Hux arches his spine.

Ren wastes no time. Looking up at him through the cascade of darkness, he mouths to the thin trail of titian hair at the base of Hux’s abdomen. His hand and his mouth envelope Hux’s cock in tight, wet heat. Hux’s hips stiffen, losing himself in the pleasure. Languidly, Ren sinks his lips around his hardness.

He can't look away, Ren's head bobbing between his thighs, the crane of his shoulder and the wet sounds of Ren touching himself. Hux’s throat buckles around a groan, raking a hand through Ren’s hair. Encouraged, Ren sucks around him, bobbing low and up again.

Ren’s moans vibrate around him, his pumps between his own legs fierce with haste. Hux parts his knees as wide as they will go. He's so close and he wants Ren to fall over the edge with him. Sucking down on him to the root, Ren grunts, his hips faltering. His eyes squeeze shut, lost in own release.

Hux takes to memory the crinkle of his forehead, the stuttering of his jaw as he spills onto his hand. The blissful openness painting Ren’s features is all it takes for Hux to come, fucking upwards into Ren’s throat. White hot pleasure, Ren permeating every sense. Ren milks every last drop until Hux pulls his head off, chest quaking. He rolls to the side, staring down to Ren’s red lips.

Ren makes for the refresher leaving Hux to catch his breath and get an eyeful of Ren's toned ass.

Hux’s eyes fly open just in time to meet Ren’s face. His hair is damp from a shower. Hux must have fallen asleep.

Ren sits on the bed, tugging at the sheets. “I'm beat,” he murmurs, easing Hux under the covers.

“Couldn't wait to hop in the refresher?” Hux grumbles sleepily, without heat.

Ren stares at him. “I don't like the feeling of your blood on my skin. Especially when I'm the one that put it there.” Gently he thumbs a bruise mottling Hux’s cheek.

Hux doesn't know how to respond, so he cranes his neck for a kiss. And he does something completely barbaric, insane, childish. He tugs Ren in for an embrace, throat swelling shut against some reaction of bodily chemistry.

Inhaling sharply, Hux shoves Ren away. He’s truly lost his mind. They don’t do this. They don’t _hug_. He refuses to be complicit in supplying Ren with more fodder for extortion.

Only Ren retorts with an embrace of his own, gentle enough for Hux to push him away if he wanted to. He doesn’t.

Instead he focuses on the coolness of his freshly shampooed hair, the earthiness of his scrubbed skin pressed under Hux’s chin. Ren’s arms around him. Twin bands of warmth more liberating than the give of the tightest restraints.

He closes his eyes, the rippling graze of Ren’s scar on his cheek a pinprick of feeling encircled by the numbness.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback is appreciated but please don't shit on me. It's fiction :7)
> 
> [Link to the gif](http://66.media.tumblr.com/b6dc6805ecfd64de0fc876b6c66a3b2a/tumblr_oe6zd4BaWr1vcd79jo1_500.gif) that singlehandedly made me want to write this fic! :7)


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